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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24787585">Paresthesia</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ourbashes/pseuds/Ourbashes'>Ourbashes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>I have No Excuse, M/M, also you get nabatean lin because it's too good to be stepped on, it was betaed so i guess glenn lives, it's literally just hubert and ferdinand yearning for 6k and a bath in the middle, this is absolutely self indulging, two bro chillin in the hot tub zero feet apart cause they're GAY</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:55:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,700</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24787585</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ourbashes/pseuds/Ourbashes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hubert?” Ferdinand manages, his eyes growing wide though knitted brows once he pulls his eyes away from Hubert’s form, his curiosity redirected to the bassin of water in front of him. “What's this?”<br/>Hubert grins, sharp white teeth over ivory lips, the way one would look at a prey in a hunting game.<br/>“Why, Ferdinand, it is but your bath.”</p><p>-</p><p>Or alternatively, I learned people used to treat a cold with a bath and foot massage and now Hubert has to take care of Ferdinand.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Paresthesia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ferdinand <em>isn't</em> sick. He's just tired, and who wouldn't be? Who wouldn't be weary after years of war against friends and foes alike, who wouldn't feel their whole body hurt after years of suffering battle after battle? Who wouldn't lose sleep because of ghosts of the past, who wouldn't cough so many times after only breathing the smoke of burnt cities and deceased bodies?</p><p>So Ferdinand isn't sick. He's just like each of his fellows, trying to survive a war against the entire world, and if his body aches with every move and his throat is sore because of coughing fits then it means he's just <em>fine</em>, if he can feel a fever creeping under his skin it means he’s just as broken as any of the soldiers following his orders. It makes his title easier to bear, so he know it wasn't given to him solely because of his name; because he is hurt and slowly decaying the way they all do away from peace.</p><p>Ferdinand isn't sick, but he still lets Linhardt check on him, on a day when the fever is stronger than ever and he blames it on the blood piling up on his stained hands. The coughing fits get stronger as well, but he chooses to blame it on the hands of the ghosts slowly choking him, because for what other reason can he not make a step out of his bed without feeling his knees crumble under him and threaten to abandon him?</p><p><em>'You caught a cold</em>.' Linhardt says.</p><p>Ferdinand laughs at his face.</p><p>Him, Ferdinand von Aegir and a soldier of Her Majesty, brought down by a mere common cold? Unbelievable.</p><p>“You've been sick for a while, haven't you?” Linhardt asks, and Ferdinand doesn't know if the concern in his voice is truly genuine or if it just part of a carefully oiled routine he perfected while healing them all for so many years.</p><p>“Just a few days.” Ferdinand waves it off. “Nothing to fret about, it's not a cold anyway.”</p><p>At this, Linhardt raises a brow, and Ferdinand feels the weight of these blue, cerulean eyes on him, creeping under his skin. It's unsettling and maybe it ought to be, maybe this isn't the first time Linhardt looks at one of them this way, trying to figure out why they're lying, why they refuse to let him treat them appropriately.</p><p>Linhardt’s sigh resonates in the silence, loud and exasperated and maybe a little bit tired, which is everything Linhardt is on a daily basis.</p><p>“Well if you want it to be treated discreetly, I advise you to go and bother Hubert instead. He'll know what to do.”</p><p>Ferdinand scoffs. <em>Hubert</em>? Surely he was mistaken, and this not-a-cold has claimed his hearing as well.</p><p>He can see from the corner of his eye how Linhardt rolls his eyes at him, swearing under his breath in a language Ferdinand has yet to learn. Sometimes he forgets Linhardt is a thousand years old. It’s still difficult to get used to the knowledge Linhardt, lazy and easy-going Linhardt, shared the blood of the Goddess as one of Her child, just the way the archbishop does.</p><p>Ferdinand has yet to see him turn into a dragon, to see these ivory wings cloud the sun and shine with an iridescent light, but the pointy ears he knows lay hidden behind his hairs leave no room for doubt, a constant reminder of his true nature.</p><p>“Have you ever seen him get sick? It is as if he is made of steel and not flesh and blood.”</p><p>“You don't get sick either.” Ferdinand points out, though Linhardt looks at him as if the answer was evident. It might just be.</p><p>“Because I perform faith magic.” He sighs, exasperated and far too tired for Ferdinand's naivety.</p><p>But then a smile spreads on his face, tilting his head to the side. It’s a sly grin, one who shouldn’t be allowed to live on Linhardt’s face, one Ferdinand is much, much more used to see on Hubert’ figure.</p><p>A row of slightly sharp teeth who could easily cut through skin behind and the very draconic ears Ferdinand has been contemplating about come to sight, piercing thought the shower of deep green hairs.</p><p>“And I am not human.”</p><p>Ferdinand groans. “Right. Nabatean, or whatever it means.”</p><p>Linhardt shakes his head, waving his hand toward the door in a not-so-silent order to leave.</p><p>“It means I have no patience for you. Now go away so I can take a nap.”</p><p>“You're not even going to heal me?” Ferdinand frowns, a shocked gasp keeping his mouth open. He figured Linhardt would, no matter what he says, he won’t deny a friend a good health, or so he thought, and he can only imagine how naïve he must look right now, considering how satisfied Linhardt's smile grows as he leans on his desk, his face in the palm of his hand.</p><p>“But I thought you weren't <em>sick</em>, Ferdinand.”</p>
<hr/><p>Ferdinand has to say, Linhardt has a point.</p><p>He can't remember a single time he ever saw Hubert, or Edelgard, though he assumes Hubert would have helped, sick.</p><p>But it's Hubert. Hubert who used to torture him with every single insult he could come up with, and even if Ferdinand must admit their relationship improved after he joined Edelgard's army – he can still remember the smug smirk adorning his lips as Ferdinand claimed to join their rank, and how delighted it made him, to see Hubert almost proud of him, almost recognizing his worth – it isn't enough to call them 'close'.</p><p>It's Hubert, for the Goddess's sake. Who can be close to such man except for the lady he so dedicatedly serves?</p><p>But to Ferdinand, 'almost-close' is enough. It means they are allies in a time of war; it means they can have conversations pleasant enough for the both of them to lose time over a cup of tea, and Ferdinand has to convince himself he won’t be a greedy man and ask for more than Hubert can give, not that he doesn’t want to, because he most certainly didn't miss the long looks Hubert offers him at times where his eyes should be focused on nothing else but his lady.</p><p>More than anything, Ferdinand remember Dorothea's laugh crowded his ears as he confessed he thought they were fueled by hate, cannot help but fancy what it could have been, because Ferdinand knows how thin the line between love and hate is supposed to be, how much passion they both require, and how easy it would be to let one win over the other.</p><p>The problem is, Ferdinand returns them. Welcomes these eyes who never cease to watch over him, who refuse to look away even caught red-handed, and the problem is Ferdinand does not hate him, never did, no matter what people might say and he cannot find a ploy to excuse the gaze Ferdinand addresses the mage, full of feelings he refuses to name.</p><p>They're not close but Ferdinand does not hate him, Hubert doesn’t either, and they most certainly aren't indifferent to each other. It’s everything and nothing at the same time, a maelstrom of tender respect and utmost annoyance, of childish bickering and solemn care. Of deafening, comfortable, silence and crowded talks filled with insults and bitter words. They both are at each other's throat and yet ready to bandage any wound and it's infuriating, not being able to put a name on this behavior of their, which is precisely the reason why Ferdinand refuses to follow Linhardt's advice, as the farther he stands to Hubert the easier it is to forget about a whole world of emotions who hasn't yet been proved to exist.</p><p>But Ferdinand is weary, his whole body aches with every step and he craves relief to this never-ending fever, so when he sees Hubert smiling with the professor and nodding along with their words as if they were equals, a position Ferdinand always searched for yet never quite admitted, he crosses the distance between them the moment the professor bids him farewell, almost bumps into Hubert's shoulder.</p><p>“Ferdinand,” Hubert addresses him with the same upset voice he carries around him, though Ferdinand knows there is no harm behind his words. “What tragic fate have I received to be once again burdened with your presence?”</p><p>“Greetings to you too, Hubert.” Ferdinand sighs and shakes his head, a palm pressed against his temple.</p><p>When he looks up he is met with a pair of green eyes focused solely on him, searching for a reason behind the sudden attention to his person and, well, Ferdinand cannot blame him, can easily imagine how confused he would be to see Hubert hurrying to him in such way, barely leaving him enough time to part with the professor; but the way these eyes look at him and leave no room for anything else, it makes is whole body shiver, as if for this very instant nothing else mattered to him except Ferdinand, and Ferdinand isn't ready to even <em>dream</em> of such possibility.</p><p>Ferdinand blames it on the cold. He cannot find his word, his voice is stuck in his throat and he can feel the dangerous blush of embarrassment claiming his whole body, ready to paint his face in every shade of red.</p><p>“Has Her Majesty ever had a cold?” He asks, half stuttering, and only realizes once the words come out of his mouth how mortifying it must have sounded, how it could be understood considering her condition, how weak her health is. It would be akin to saying <em>'Her Majesty is sick and I fail to see what ails her'</em>, and Ferdinand stands at the front row to witness the consequences of his actions, how Hubert's eyes grow wide, with knitted eyebrows and a face paler than death.</p><p>“Is she unwell?” Hubert demands, his voice betraying the worry in his heart.</p><p>“No, no, Her Majesty is fine! More than ever!” Ferdinand panics, his hands waving the air in front of him in a humorous attempt to calm the tempest raging behind these clear green eyes.</p><p>“I just– I was– Linhardt suggested you might have more expertise with, how should I put it, treating common sickness since you took care of her all these years.”</p><p>“Linhardt told <em>you</em> to come looking for <em>me</em>?”</p><p>A dark laugh fills the room as Hubert realizes the irony behind Ferdinand's words, easing the tension built in his shoulder. Her Majesty is well.</p><p>“I was just as surprised, mind you.” Ferdinand crosses his arms over his chest, refusing to admit what this laugh does to him, crawling under his skin and spreading cold shivers along their path, ones he slowly began to grow fond of. “So? Do you?”</p><p>A smirk crosses Hubert's face, long and thin, almost terrifying, and Ferdinand must physically restrain himself from thinking how it accentuates the shape of his lips, nails digging in the fabric of his coat.</p><p>“Maybe. But I am much more curious about the reason behind this request of yours, Ferdinand. Has the great von Aegir been brought down on his knees by such disease? Were you so used to be served all your life you never learned how to take care of yourself?”</p><p>Ferdinand pinches his lips, <em>hard</em>, until he's certain his mouth is closed shut and none of the atrocious words he wishes to say will come to light. He hates, <em>loathes</em> the way Hubert so easily push him at the edge of sanity, forces him to get rid of his pride only aided by a few words because he knows Ferdinand needs his help, but the Goddess forbids he wouldn't make use of it for another of his merciless teases.</p><p>“Would you still help me, was it the case?”</p><p>“Depends.” Hubert taunts him, almost chuckling, and <em>oh</em> does he love the color of surprise on this freckled face.</p><p>Leaning in, he uses his height to tower over Ferdinand – knows how the man hates to be reminded of this slight difference between them, whispering to the air between their noses on a conspiring tone.</p><p>“Will you comply to my words and cease to be so stubborn?” He smirks, adoring the barely hidden fear in these eyes of his, a strand of ginger hairs coloring his gloves, ever so soft under his thumb.</p><p>“Will you <em>yield</em>, Ferdinand?”</p><p>“I– Stop mocking me.” Ferdinand averts his gaze in a desperate attempt to hide from Hubert's malice. It's useless and he knows it, as Hubert has no intention to back down. It seems to Ferdinand he is getting closer with every passing moment and he hates, <em>hates</em> how he would most certainly abandon all pretense if he was to look back at him, can imaging these focused eyes on him, the thin line of his lips, the almost imperceptible hollow of Hubert’s cheeks, all of these details Ferdinand wishes he could appreciate in so, so many and less proper ways.</p><p>“Yes, yes, <em>fine</em>, I will! Now stop being so creepy about it.” Ferdinand swallows nervously, rubs his neck. He takes a step back, <em>finally</em>, and it all feels as if he's been granted air in his lungs again, strained from sickness and not whatever this is Hubert is doing to him.</p><p>“As you wish,” Hubert complies, and Ferdinand wonders if he does it on purpose, speaking so low and intimately when Ferdinand only asks for a cure to this damn cold, how Ferdinand can hear the smile behind his voice so blatantly making fun of him he cannot hold back the blush spreading on his face.</p><p>“Come to my quarters tonight. I'll have it prepared by nightfall.”</p><p>“Nightfall?” Ferdinand repeats in perfect confusion, curses himself for the way his voice stutters. “Why would I come to your room? Can't you just heal me now?”</p><p>Hubert narrows his eyes at him. His mouth falls open, just for a moment of surprise but he quickly closes it back, biting his lips not to show another mocking smile. Ferdinand might go back on his words if he goes too far, and truly this situation is too laughable for him to give up on the shocked and horrified look who will paint Ferdinand's face one he realizes the nature of this treatment.</p><p>Because there's no other explanation than this one, that Ferdinand von Aegir, so prideful and noble, is completely unaware of its nature, or else he wouldn't be asking him to cure him here and now where half of the Black Eagles strike force can see them in clear daylight.</p><p>“Just do as I say for once in your life, Ferdinand.” Hubert rolls his eyes, but it's more of a pretense than anything, feigning to be upset and regretting this arrangement already.</p><p>“Fine, fine.” Ferdinand gives up, moving his hands dramatically in the air. “Just… do your thing, whatever this is.”</p><p>He doesn't know what part of him is so laughable Hubert must wear his scheming face in front of him, but he most certainly isn't eager to know. Goddess above, if he must endure his company for a whole evening, then he will need all the help he can get.</p>
<hr/><p>Ferdinand occupies himself with his duties through the day, trains with his soldiers, meets with the Emperor. They've had peaceful days recently, only interrupted by a failed assassination attempts and never ending preparations for the war. It is no surprise their enemies, unable to reach the gates of Enbarr, would hire mercenaries to do the dirty work of their own.</p><p>He's certain Hubert does the same with his battalion of spies, though he tries not to wonder too long whether or not he trains them to take the head of two of the continent's leaders, as he might not be so fond of the answer.</p><p>Ferdinand groans. Hubert. Why do his thoughts refuse to stray far from him recently? There's not close enough for Ferdinand to worry about him the way a friend would, and yet he can't explain the dreadful shiver running down his spine as he pictures the lifeless body of the mage on the battlefield were he not to be careful in another of his risky schemes.</p><p>His hand goes up to his eyes, covers them both as a long sigh leaves him. All these years, he's been playing a game he never learned the name of, and the uncertainty of it all, between Hubert's dirty remarks and the care he offers him, is a torture to sweet for Ferdinand to truly appreciate it.</p><p>Sometimes Ferdinand wonders if the only thing Hubert likes about him are the colors of shame on his face when they engage in another of their verbal joust. Others, Ferdinand asks himself if they're only caused by shame, but more than anything he’s afraid of answer and truly, what else could it be? Ferdinand knows enough about love to know it brings similar shades to one's face in the way lovers propose for a lifetime together, or the way maiden and gentlemen alike blush for a kiss on their hand; but Ferdinand be damned this isn't the matter at hand here, he isn't <em>in love</em>, there's no way he could be, not at war, not like this, and definitely not with a ridiculous, tall and handsome brooding man who isn't able to share even <em>one </em>honest smile.</p><p>Ferdinand sighs. None of this is helping him. Thinking about Hubert isn't helping him, nor is reminiscing about the light his eyes bear as soon as Ferdinand is around him, or the almost tender smiles he bestows upon him before delivering one of his taunting lines.</p><p>The knowledge he must share his evening with him only makes things immensely worse.</p><p>He has never visited Hubert outside their work, never felt the need to. Even during their rare tea times, the discussion always revolved around their lady. If he had to send a document to him, he would give it to his aid, a messenger, and then resume his work unless it could wait until morning and Ferdinand took care of it himself. Ferdinand has never seen his face lit by the warm light of a candle, nor did he ever see him deprived of his long cloak and coat; and Ferdinand fears once the littlest part of Hubert skin falls under his eyes, the moment Hubert cares for him and dedicate his being to him, Ferdinand fears he will have no other choice but open the box he so desperately wants to remain closed.</p><p>Because it might not be love, but it's something. It's attraction, it's <em>want</em>, it's the possibility of what could be and it's <em>killing</em> him, imagining these hands on his body and longing for it, for a touch he will never allow himself, for lips against his neck in a way he only ever fantasized about.</p><p>Ferdinand knows it’s ridiculous, to want a man who doesn’t want anyone, especially this way. He tried to get rid of it, tried to forget this damned face of his and forget what the skin under these gloves would feel like but it only came back stronger, <em>hungrier</em> and since Ferdinand never once tried to silence them again, hasn’t dared to.</p><p>Now the night has turned as black as the cloak on his shoulders Ferdinand regrets it, regrets everything, asking for Linhardt’s help, for <em>Hubert’s</em>, as he can no longer stop his feet as they hurry through the palace’s corridors, reach a distant wing, close enough to the Emperor’s quarters yet forgotten enough to host the darkest secrets, and if it didn’t already stand fierce at the palace’s first dawn, Ferdinand fears Hubert himself would have crafted it himself.</p><p>Ferdinand pushes the door to Hubert’s private study, maybe louder than he intended to, but he can’t hear anything over the beating of his heart; and what a sight must he be, all disheveled from the sole of his boots to the last of his hair, blood hurrying to his cheek and shortened breath.</p><p>“Ferdinand,” Hubert announces calmly, standing over a wooden basin, “How kind of you to grace me with your presence.”</p><p>Even deprived of his cloak and coat, Ferdinand is forced to admit Hubert loses nothing of his natural grace. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, revealing the fine lines of his forearms Ferdinand imagines aren’t devoid of strength. His gloves still remain, just like this damned smile on his tempting lips. A dime scent covers the room, crowds Ferdinand’s nose as he becomes painfully aware of the steam emanating from the basin.</p><p>“Hubert?” Ferdinand manages, his eyes growing wide though knitted brows once he pulls his eyes away from Hubert’s form, his curiosity redirected to the body of water in front of him. “What’s this?”</p><p>Hubert grins, sharp white teeth over ivory lips, the way one would look at a prey in a hunting game.</p><p>“Why, Ferdinand, it is but your bath.”</p><p>“My bath?” Ferdinand parrots with a crinkled nose. “I’ll have you to know I smell wonderfully, Hubert, I do not need a <em>bath</em>.”</p><p>Hubert rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue. “If I cared about your smell I would have said so. This one is meant to cure you.”</p><p>Ferdinand snorts, earns a dark glare. “I’m sorry, I fail to see how a bath will cure me.”</p><p>“A hot bath and foot massage. It’s the quickest way to get rid of a common cold, Ferdinand. Didn’t you know?”</p><p>“Foot– <em>No</em>.” Ferdinand turns around. It’s too much, he can’t– He can’t have Hubert kneel in front of him and have these hands washing him, <em>massaging</em> him, can’t bear to feel these hands against his bare skin and keep his composure intact. He’d prefer to suffer from a thousand deaths than suffer through the humiliation of standing naked in front of him, both physically and metaphorically, faced with the evidence he’s been played with all this time.</p><p>“<em>Ferdinand</em>.” A loud, commanding voice calls out for him, stops him dead in his tracks as if roots pierced through his feet and tied him to the ground, and for a split second Ferdinand wonders if Hubert used one of his spells on him.</p><p>And then the voice turns into the teasing one he knows so well, the one who barely manages to hide a restrained laugh and every bit of pride he’s able to summon. “Where do you think you’re going?”</p><p>There’s a loud silence, one none of them wish to break. Ferdinand watches, because he refuses to be a part of this game, as Hubert prepares his bath and how much cares he puts into it, checking if the water’s nor too warm nor too cold, busying himself with tasks across the room, and it’s only when Hubert stops in front of him, deadly glare upon him that Ferdinand snaps out of him.</p><p>“Come on. Get rid of your clothes but <em>please,</em> for the love of the Goddess keep your undergarments on.”</p><p>“Didn’t know you were a pious man.” Ferdinand mocks him, and truly it’s but a travesty to hide the panicked state of his mind.</p><p>Hubert walks away, yet his face turn back with a frown barring his eyes.</p><p>“Very funny.” Hubert shakes his head, kneeling down in front of the bassin. “Now hurry up or I’ll have you bathed with your gears on, von Aegir.”</p><p>Yes. ‘von Aegir’ is nice and safe knowing he will have said man half-naked in front of him in a matter of minutes.</p><p>From the corner of his eyes, Hubert can see Ferdinand following his orders for once, getting rid of his coat and cloak in a quick movement and yet it isn’t quick enough as he now struggles with his gauntlets, greaves and knee-cops, drawing a sigh out of him.</p><p>“Couldn’t you have taken these off earlier? As much as I agreed to help, I’d like to avoid spending more time than necessary in your company.”</p><p>“Well I didn’t know you were going to <em>bath</em> me!” Hubert hears him complain, guesses the way he stomps his foot against the floor, how childish of him. It’s almost endearing.</p><p>Hubert does his best to seem absolutely bored when he looks at Ferdinand carefully putting his armor away – it is actually clever, considering how fast they rust if met with water, and looking positively embarrassed, colored red from the top of his ears to the end of his neck as he now seems to realize he must take his jacket and shirt off as well, standing there with eyes like daggers at his own clothes.</p><p>“Do you need my help to undress as well?” Hubert taunts, resting his head on his palm, elbow against the basin’s edge. There’s a slight smirk adorning his lips, as always in Ferdinand’s presence. It is so easy to trouble him; Hubert will never grow tired of it.</p><p>If he was to be allowed a single pleasure in life, he would probably choose this one. Even if it meant spending a lifetime with Ferdinand by his side, well, Hubert could certainly accommodate to it.</p><p>“I do not.” Ferdinand answers him, wavering voice though he’s certain he aimed for a more confident tone.</p><p>Hubert is perfectly aware it is much more difficult for Ferdinand to undress with his gaze upon him, but he never meant to make it easy for him, did he? Hubert promised to entertain himself, and it’s much more amusing to see him squirm out of his clothes in a vain attempt to hide than looking away and allowing him a moment of relief.</p><p>So Hubert watches – maybe with too much attention, follows Ferdinand’s fingers as they undo the buttons of his jacket one by one, as it leaves his shoulders, revealing the ivory shirt underneath, notes how he effortlessly unties the crimson jabot once the golden pin is removed, observes how it hugs the shape of his neck until the very last moment as if it regretted leaving him in the first place and oh does Hubert understand, wonders how it would feel under his touch.</p><p>Hubert isn’t one to conceal his opinion for anyone, whether it is hatred, disdain or affection, but he must admit there’s one, single sentiment he refuses to show anyone. Because of how ridiculous and unthinkable it is, because of how agonizing it is, for him to be drawn to someone like him, to <em>Ferdinand</em>, the very man he used to despise with his whole being and although he didn’t expect it, it isn’t unheard of. He isn’t the only one to find Ferdinand esthetically pleasing after all, and as long as Hubert remains silent about it nothing disgraceful will happen, he won’t have to bear with Ferdinand’s constant nagging on how mildly attracted to his person he is; but it doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate such view when it is presented to him.</p><p>Ferdinand’s shirt falls on the ground, leaving him only with dark <em>braies</em> on, a loose linen undergarment narrowed around his knees. It leaves his chest bare, lit by candlelight and moonlight alike, offering a blend of warm orange lights and icy blue ones, a sight Hubert finds himself quite content with.</p><p>“Took you long enough.”</p><p>Straightening his posture, Hubert gestures to him to approach, leaving a reasonable distance between them.</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>Hubert smiles.</p><p>“That you do. And get in, you idiot.”</p><p>Once again, Ferdinand obliges to his words, and Hubert doesn’t miss the shiver passing though him the moment he steps in the water. ‘<em>Too hot?</em>’ Hubert asks, is rewarded with nothing but a glare, the lack of clothes tying his tongue down.</p><p>Ferdinand sits in the basin, relaxes at the feeling of warm water up to his ribcage, yet his body keeps working against him, his throat tickles, forcing him to cough in the crook of his elbow.</p><p>As soon as Ferdinand is settled in the bath Hubert stands up, walking away to sit on a chair nearby, picking up an opened book on his desk and if the complex diagrams covering its pages, it seems he must have been researching magic before Ferdinand’s visit.</p><p>And just like this, he resumes his reading as if Ferdinand wasn’t sitting half-naked in front of him, waiting for a cure who does not come.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Ferdinand asks, earning a click of the tongue as Hubert turns a page of his book.</p><p>“It’s a <em>bath</em>. You’re supposed to be at ease Ferdinand, not attacking me with pointless questions.”</p><p>From his place on the ground, Ferdinand can see Hubert taking notes on the book, so deep in thoughts he seem to have forgotten all about Ferdinand’s presence. He takes it as a clue to behave in the same way, and without a care in the world whether he is watched or not, Ferdinand rests his head against the edge of the basin, closing his eyes and leaving them in a peaceful silence.</p><p>The worst part of it is, Hubert was right.</p><p>He didn’t know how much his body needed it, but the warmth eases the tension of his muscles, covers them with bliss and Ferdinand soon forgets how much they ached, the steam doing wonder to his sore throat. He no longer feels the need to cough his lungs out, the burn he felt on his face is no longer caused by a fever, replaced by the sublime heat of his skin.</p><p>Hubert wants him to rest? Oh, he’ll do just that. And maybe more.</p><p>Ferdinand’s painfully contented sigh does not escapes Hubert. If anything, it not only guides his eyes away from him book, a quite interesting read, mind you, but also hold them in place, refusing to let go of Ferdinand’s body, the steam turning his whole being into a glistening work of art, untroubled and unbothered. Hubert follows the lines of his muscles, of his forearms laying against the edges, his fingers gripping the wood as not to be left submerged. Only his folded knees can be seen above the water, leaving the rest to Hubert’s imagination, aided by the path traced by his thighs and leading his gaze underwater, lower and lower.</p><p>A foot leaves the bath, droplets gently hugging his calf. Hubert blinks, and when he opens his eyes again, he’s met with another line of his book.</p><p>He turns a page, even though he hasn’t finished reading it yet. It doesn’t matter.</p><p>Ferdinand turns around and around in his bath, but this time Hubert makes it a silent promise not to look his way. The sound of dancing water reaches his ears, does not go unnoticed, and Hubert imagines all the way it could be forced to move this way.</p><p>The sound repeats. Something touches his foot, then his ankle. Hubert forces himself to read the same sentence twice.</p><p>The touch returns, spreading up to his calf.</p><p>Hubert tears his eyes away, is met with a grinning Ferdinand, arms crossed over the edge closest to him, fingers dripping with water. One look at his leg assures him the fabric is indeed soaked.</p><p>Ferdinand flicks his fingers, sending water up to Hubert’s knee, eyes daring him to do anything about it.</p><p>Hubert is more than happy to rise to the challenge.</p><p>Abandoning his book on the desk, Hubert stands abruptly, reaching the basin with quick steps. Ferdinand never stops grinning, so content of himself, even when Hubert takes hold of his tangerine hairs as he kneels and pushes his face underwater.</p><p>Immediately, a pair of hands are on his arm, nails digging crescent shapes on his skin. Hubert count for a few seconds, then forces his head back up, his gloved hand still buried deep in Ferdinand’s wild, wet locks, feels them sticking to his forearm and drawing messy circles, just the way they decorate Ferdinand’s face, adorably clinging to his cheeks.</p><p>He likes the sight.</p><p>Ferdinand draws a sharp, panting breath, a hand gripping to the edge, just in case, just to be sure he won’t go down so easily next time while the other remains on Hubert’s arm, and he tries not to think of the heat coming from him.</p><p>“You– What do you think you’re doing?!”</p><p>Hubert smiles at him, not quite upset and not quite tender, yet fully cunning.</p><p>“You behave like a child, I will treat you like one.”</p><p>The hand leaves Ferdinand’s hairs, and Ferdinand takes it as an opportunity to chase away the strands from his face, trying to regain the few remaining bits of his dignity.</p><p>As his palm finish to wash over his face, Ferdinand sees the extended hand before he hears Hubert’s voice,</p><p>“Give me your foot.”</p><p>Ferdinand chuckles, snapping it away.</p><p>“Not a chance.”</p><p>He isn’t letting Hubert anywhere near his feet that’s for sure; even if he finds himself craving his touch more than necessary, more than just a fleeting affection can plague him with, thinking of the press of Hubert’s thumb against the sole of his feet, of his fingers caressing his skin in a less devoted manner than the one he could offer Edelgard.</p><p>Hubert frowns, reaches for his foot, and Ferdinand folds his leg, pulls it out of his reach. Hubert tries, again, and it’s the only cue he needed to start a game none of them intended of playing, as one tries to take what isn’t his to claim and Ferdinand slowly gets on Hubert’s nerves.</p><p>“<em>Flames</em>, stop being so childish!” Hubert snarls, towers over him in a desperate move to catch Ferdinand’s limb hanging out of the basin. He can’t believe this is how it has become; can’t believe he’s spending his oh so precious time chasing after Ferdinand when he could be dedicating it to his lady, a distraction he swore to never give in to.</p><p>Two strong hands pull at Hubert’s collar, forcing him into the water, and Hubert barely has the time to press his palms flat against the wooden planks before his arms dive deep underwater and a laugh echoes in his ears, too clear and bright at this time of the night.</p><p>Ferdinand has the audacity to wink, along an arm sneaking around his neck.</p><p>“Well, Hubert, If you wanted to take a bath as well, you should have told me.”</p><p>Hubert crunches his nose as he slowly removes his hand from the body of water, witnessing how completely drenched his glove is, lets it fall back in the basin next to Ferdinand’s hips with a roll of the eyes.</p><p>“I’m going to <em>kill</em> you.”</p><p>The look of glee on Ferdinand’s face is replaced with sheer panic as Hubert tries to drown him again, and he only has enough time to dodge to the side before he hears Hubert hissing, his knee hitting the basin, and in the same movement Ferdinand feels an elbow shoveling in his ribs, because <em>someone</em> lost his balance.</p><p>Hubert catches himself with a soaked glove against the edge right above Ferdinand’s shoulder, his nose crashing against Ferdinand’s cheek only for an instant before he tilts his head back, just enough to see his own surprise reflected in Ferdinand’s eyes, to see how the moonlight glows against the wet skin of his face, and once again Hubert witnesses a moment of grace.</p><p>Ferdinand’s cheeks are red and yet so pale, with freckles spreading like wildfire on his nose; a detail Hubert knew of yet never stopped long enough to notice each of its aspect, most certainly not at such close range. He feels the hand on his neck tightening its grip, gently pressing against his nape while Ferdinand licks his lips and Hubert’s eyes take the sight in before he can stop them.</p><p>“You know,” Ferdinand whispers to him, looking back and forth between Hubert’s eyes and the drops on Hubert’s throat, every ounce of discretion away from him. “I’ve been told the most effective way to get rid of a cold is to pass it on to another.”</p><p>Hubert snorts, because really there’s no other way to deal with this, with the half-naked body under him, one he could reach and touch and make his with a single move of his hand, and the dumbstruck, alluring face he’s offered within his grasp.</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>Ferdinand hesitantly nods, and Hubert prays he’d stop biting his lips like this so this atrocious warmth he feels would stop ruining him.</p><p>But instead of following his last remnants of logic, instead of using these arms of his to push himself away and impose a relieving distance between them, Hubert leans in, maybe more than he should, his glove brushing against Ferdinand’s jaw, softly pushing stands away.</p><p>“Then why didn’t you already do so?”</p><p>Ferdinand swallows, opens his mouth before he can think of the hopeless way his heart drums in his chest.</p><p>“I lacked a partner.”</p><p>“Hence my presence here, I assume?” Hubert laughs, and this time it isn’t to mock him. It’s just him, excruciatingly, every bit of his voice crowding Ferdinand’s mind with it, with the thought of him, with <em>Hubert</em>, his hands, his eyes, his voice just him; Goddess, mere inches away.</p><p>It’s killing him, softly and oh so tortuously slow, and if he knew torment felt so sweet against his skin, then he’d have gladly abandoned himself to it earlier.</p><p>“It has yet to be proven, though.” Ferdinand stutters, tries to hide the intent behind his words. “I thought you’d appreciate to share the experience.”</p><p>And the problem, the most dreadful outcome, is that Hubert remains silent, perfectly immobile, and how couldn’t he be considering the implicit of Ferdinand’s offer.</p><p>There aren’t many ways to share a disease. One needs to be close, so close bodies could touch and lips could melt together, so close one could feel the warmth of another against them and Ferdinand shamelessly gave in, surrendered to the wish to hold him like a lover even for a single night, and these hands, these damned hand cupping his face don’t do anything to relieve the desire plaguing him, not with how his thumbs caress his cheeks in a way Ferdinand dreamt of a thousand times.</p><p>“For science’s sake, then.”</p><p>Ferdinand’s gasp is lost in an opened mouth pressed hot against his, in the fingers interlocked on his nape pulling him closer and closer even though he cannot possibly be, in the blasphemous sigh Hubert has the nerves to set free, and Ferdinand loses it. Ties both of his arms around Hubert’s neck and his ankle on the back of Hubert’s thigh, and oh does he love the deep groan Hubert fails to hold back and the feeling of these gloves finally, finally on his skin the way he hoped they would, feeling every bump of his ribs, bruising his hips in a possessive grip.</p><p>Hubert is <em>loving</em> him. He’s kissing him, without restrain, without decorum, it’s messy because none of them knows where to put their hands to use and Hubert bites his lips – unintentionally at first, but then Ferdinand moans against his lips and Hubert is so perfectly pleased to oblige once more.</p><p>And Ferdinand hates, <em>hates</em> they must part, hates how he can feel his throat hitching with the promise of another fit, how Hubert’s lips make him gasp for air and yet crave much more than just steady breaths to fill his lungs, something quite different and not so innocent.</p><p>“I don’t feel sick yet.” Hubert breathes out, chokes on his own laugh and Ferdinand cannot help but laugh along, so noisy and loud, not deprived of an ounce of joy.</p><p>“Maybe it needs time to take effect?” He proposes, his thumb brushing against the short hairs at the base of Hubert’s neck.</p><p>“It might. But just to be sure, the experience ought to be repeated.” Hubert smirks, holding Ferdinand’s chin between his fingers oh so tenderly, a touch Ferdinand welcomes wholeheartedly as he smiles back, maybe just as devilishly.</p><p>“Couldn’t have put it any better.”</p><p>Ferdinand pulls him in, relishing in the way Hubert surrenders to his lead, his hands oh so eager to meet new pieces of Hubert’s skin, much too covered to his liking.</p><p>Though for this, he’ll need to get out of the basin first.</p>
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